


Close Yet Far

by friedhotsauce



Category: Sherlock (TV), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Discrimination, Feels, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, Sexual Content, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friedhotsauce/pseuds/friedhotsauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>September 3rd 1939, England enters another great war, along with none other than detective Sherlock Holmes. Loki, a patriot of Norway is also swept into the midst of dangerous battlefields. The pair's chance meeting as randomly selected bunkmates, quickly escalates to something more. But when Moriarty just so happens to have strong ties to the Nazi regime, what will become of the soldiers, and John?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow, Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story!

          The apartment of 221B was just as hot and eerie as the early September night. Inside, two men stood at a distance from each other in angry silence. Dr. John Watson was facing the window, scowling and muttering to himself as he gulped down the rest of the beer in his glass.

“Careful now. I suppose liquor will become something of a delicacy if the war is to last long,” casually drawled the second male. A dark-haired fellow, known as Sherlock Holmes, leaned against the wall adjacent from his companion. 

“I should be going too,” John sighed miserable as ever. “My leg is no obstacle; I can tread around just fine.”

“Wars are not the type of events to simply tread around in, now are they?”

“It was an accident, a simple auto accident. Nothing but my leg was damaged. I wasn’t even the least bit shaken up!”

Sherlock was starting to become agitated by the back and forth. “Look John, I need to get some sleep. I’m sorry you can’t accept the facts. I’m shipping out for Belgium tomorrow morning, and no matter how much you’d like to try, there’s nothing you can do about it!” At that, he turned on his heels and moved toward the bedroom. Realizing Sherlock had left, while soaking in the lecture, John slowly followed the path into the room as well.

“I’m sorry.”

The dark-haired man got up from his seat on the bed. “It’s alright,” he consoled, approaching the blond man.

“I need to learn to keep my patience up now more than ever.”

John thought about collapsing into Sherlock’s arms and weeping the night away, but he had to be strong. He had to reassure the new soldier that everything was going to be fine, that he was going to be fine. Despite all efforts, tears tumbled down his cheeks.

“I was trying so hard not to do this,” John gasped and hid his face. But before he could even turn an inch away, Sherlock trapped him in a gentle embrace. “I’ll miss you too Watson.”

 

* * *

 

          _"Kom igjen, kom igjen!_ Come on, come on!” yelled Odin in red-faced frustration. He kicked the wet soil beneath his feet violently at the cows he was trying to lead back into the barn.

“ _Pappa_ , you’ve upset the cows again. There’s no way they’ll follow you now.” Reasoned the old Odin’s son, Loki.

“Move out of the way _gutten min_ , my boy. I know what I’m doing.”

“ _Er du sikker_? Are you sure?”

Odin paused and pondered his youngest son’s words. He pulled out a handkerchief to clean his grimy face, and leaned against one of the animals. “I guess we were never meant to be farmers.”

The prideful man and his family had moved from their ancestral homeland of Norway, to Sweden six months ago. German forces were slowly starting to trickle into the Scandinavian country, and citizens were eager to move out before it was too late. Odin had been a masterful academic, but the move to neighbouring Sweden brought him and his family nothing but a half acre of troublesome land.

“And that is why I joined the army,” Loki said in a reminding tone. “To help break us loose from this trap.”

“You shouldn’t have to. _Jeg er faren_ , I’m the father. It is my job to oversee this family, not the other way around.”

“If you won’t let me go for you, I’ll go _for Norge,_ for Norway.” Loki whispered as not to further his father’s anger.

“Why could you not have gone to America with your brother?” Odin asked wearily.

“Thor’s patriotism has now switched sides. I could never do such a thing,” Loki added rather bluntly.

An entire moment passed between the two before Odin concluded: “Your _mamma_ has prepared a special lunch for you. We mustn’t be late.” And they made their way to a cottage in the centre of the property. 


	2. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story!

          The air was thick with nervousness and sorrow that morning. And the looming fog outside didn't help in the least bit either. Sherlock and John were sitting on the outdoor steps of the apartment building. They were waiting for a car that would be picking up Mr. Holmes. John vacantly watched the parting couples across the street. The worried pleas of the girlfriend were consoled by promises of return by the departing boyfriend. They would proceed to lock lips until the horn of the army vans, suggested to get going.

"We could never do that," John said shaking his head.

"Do what?" Sherlock asked.

"Kiss out on the open like that." John motioned towards the opposite sidewalk, filled with couples.

"There's no point in it anyway dear. We already covered that, and more inside." Sherlock smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. Watson couldn't help but crack a smile.

"You're right about that."

"But what we can do is this," Sherlock reached for his companion and gave him a mighty and long hug. Resting his head on the broad shoulders, John whispered, "promise me you won't-"

"Die? I already did that, several times."

"No, look at another man, the way you look at me."

The detective suddenly ripped apart from the embrace. "Why would you think such a thing in the first place?"

"The army is full of men of all sorts. Out of thousands, one or two could catch your eye and-"

Sherlock cupped John's chin in his fingers, and raised his head to make them eye level.

"I would gladly take a thousand falls for you, and only you." The soldier announced, hoping to diminish any further worries. The couple parted immediately again, as a car pulled up nearby. It was formal and small, unlike the bulky vans that carried away the other Joes. The cause of this was that Mr. Holmes was to be a soldier for the intelligence sector. All (especially John) hoped that with his wit, the allies would win the war before Christmas.

Before Sherlock entered the car, he quietly asked the doctor, "Write to me?"

"Every day," John sadly nodded, and in his heart the pain of the departure ensued.

* * *

 

            " _Jeg haper du likte maltidet_ , I hope you liked your meal." Loki's mother, Frigga crooned.

" _Deilig som alltid mamma_ , delicious as always."

Frigga smiled sadly, and sat down next to Loki at the kitchen table. "We will miss you."

"I will miss you and _pappa_ as well."

"I would have never thought of my youngest son, as a soldier, a fighter."

"Not quite. I've been recruited as a translator, I'm sure I'll be far from the battlefronts."

Frigga gasped in relief. " _Gudskjelov, gutten min vil vaere i orden_ , thank heaven, my boy will be alright!"

Loki was content at the stress evaporating from his mother. But surely not all was to be smooth sailing. He was required to go through the same physical training as the ordinary soldiers. Wars of course were unpredictable; Loki had to be ready for anything. Evening was fast approaching the land. The family of three stood outside of the cottage, waiting for the military vehicle that would pick the youngster up.

"Oh, before I forget," Frigga announced. "I've canned some of your favourite wild berries, and half a rabbit. Just the way you like it." She produced two jars packed with edibles, and Loki stashed them in his shoulder bag.

" _Takk_ mamma, thanks."

Suddenly, a burst of headlights pierced throughout the darkening atmosphere. It was time to leave. Frigga lovingly tucked strands of long black hair behind her son's ears, before hugging him tightly. Moving on to Odin, Loki opened his arms to receive a similar goodbye. But instead his father extended a single hand. Loki shook it, moderately disappointed and walked away. He trudged up to the vehicle and climbed up the steps, but before fully entering, he heard nearby shouting.

"Wait, wait!" It was Odin. Loki jumped on to the ground, and wrapped his arms around his exhausted father.

" _Jeg er sa stolt av deg_ , I am so proud of you."

After a few seconds, they reluctantly parted and Loki boarded again.

"Next stop England!" The driver proclaimed, little too overjoyed for the somber night. Seated, Loki stared at the decimated fields and the lone cottage outside of the window.

" _Farvel mamma_ and _pappa_ , goodbye."


	3. Troublesome Jars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story!

                Loki jolted awake to the sound of boat horns and seagulls. He glanced outside of the window to see a mostly quiet ferry port. The van driver parked a few feet away from it, and turned to face the tired soldiers.

“Up and at ‘em!” He exclaimed, again with a little too much zest.

Loki groggily grabbed his bag and head out of the vehicle. He followed a small group of similar aged men on to the docks. From there they continued carefully into a rickety ferry. Upon arrival, a tall and tidy man introduced himself as first engineer of the ship, and guided them below to the engine rooms.

“You’ll be safer here.” He said, affirming why the soldiers shouldn’t expect a comfy trip.

 Although Sweden was claiming neutrality in the war, impending dangers were submerged in the water. The men were hidden in case of the worst circumstance of attack. After all, from what Loki heard, most had escaped the Nazi regime in Norway such as himself. Already he started to feel uneasy for what was to come, due to the careful precautions.  To ease his anxiety, Loki reached into his bag and retrieved a book, no bigger than his palm, on the famed Norse mythology. He smiled at the familiar names: Odin. Frigga, Thor, Loki. They were all powerful deities. Worshipped, respected, and feared. The long haired man sighed and thought about how lame their names seemed at this point: close to impoverished farmers, living off whatever they could salvage and the few dollars Thor could send home.

“ _Hva har du?_ What ya got there?” A fellow sailor inquired, in between bites of a biscuit. 

“Oh nothing, just some old fairy tales.” Loki replied shaking his head.

“No, no, they’re not just fairy tales,” said the messy fellow, much to Loki’s surprise. “This book might be all that’s left of us if the Nazi’s get their way.” He continued sadly. “If I die in this war, and get the privilege of having my soul taken to Asgard; I want Odin himself to apologize for the state of the human race.” The man was about to take another bite, but stared glumly at the biscuit instead and walked away.

Overwhelmed with worry and sudden homesickness, Loki shut his eyes tight and drifted to sleep in the wooden chair he had sat on.

 

                The boat’s horn awoke Loki yet again. Though this time it was terribly loud and it shook the whole vessel violently.

_“Vi er her allerede?_  Are we here already?

But there was no reply as the soldiers were already crowded at the exit. The young man quickly gathered himself and upon approaching the exit, it opened wide to reveal cloudy skies.

“This is England?”

“Afraid not sonny, this is Scotland.” Announced a thickly accented voice. A middle aged man stood in the group’s way of the exit. He was suited and armed to the tee in army gear.

“Now let me guess.” He continued, and climbed up to the ferry’s platform and walked amongst the crowd. “Swedes you are not, rather refugees. Norwegian refugees, wanting to fight for the childhood motherland.”

The crowd murmured “yes sir” in response.

“Then a lecture on hardships is wasted on you lot, correct?” The grey-haired man seemed to be staring directly at Loki. Gulping, he nodded vigorously in agreement.

“You’ll be hearing enough lecturing once training starts, let us carry on. Around these parts I am known as the general, and only the general, you will address me as such. Is that understood?”

_“Ja generell!”_ The group cried out, straight postured and a flat hand raised to their temples.

“Then let’s get a move on.”

The soldiers followed the general closely. Loki was very glad to have his feet on the earth again. He zoned out at the sights of the rolling hills and leafy trees. The nature wasn’t disturbed by even the smallest bit of farmland. Loki smiled at the pristineness and peace. But soon after they arrived at the military base, which was a very different sight to behold.

 

                The whole area seemed to be a suitable size for a large village, it certainly was busy enough. There were jeeps roaring to life, and lots of people all chatting away. Loki became dazed at it all. Finally he was here. He should be happy; this is what he wanted, right? A sudden sound of snapping fingers brought him into reality. It was the general. “Sonny you need to follow the rest of your group to the first tent there, it’s a security check point.

“Sorry, thank-you.” Loki managed to mutter before hurrying off to the tent. Upon entering a guard motioned the young soldier to put his bag on the table between them. The first thing that came out was the canned goods. The guard mustn’t have placed them carefully enough on the table because; before Loki knew it they rolled down to the floor and out of the tent. He ran after them. Besides the little book of legends, he didn’t have much to remember home by. And _mamma’s_ home cooking was the cure for everything, as far as he was concerned. The glass jars clinked down a gentle slope (where the tent rested atop), but finally stopped at the bottom. Slightly pink with embarrassment, Loki swooped down to collect the runaway items. But before laying a finger on one, a black leather boot lightly came down on it. A hand as pale as the young Norwegian picked up the jar of rabbit.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”


	4. Bunkmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story!

                Loki stood up, brushed off his uniform right away and saluted the man adjacent.

“I am very sorry sir, the jars were rolling away, and I had to go after them.” He sputtered. The equally black haired man seemed to be dressed more regally than the others. If he was of higher rank, the young soldier could get into trouble, even if the event was just slightly disruptive. But to Loki’s relief, the army man proceeded in an unbothered manner. Instead he smirked warmly and handed the two jars over.

“State your name private.” 

“Loki Odinson, sir.”

“Loki Odinson of Sweden, formerly Norway?”

“Yes sir.”

“You had signed up as a translator, correct?”

The young soldier nodded shakily in response, still trying to gather his wits.

“Come, follow me.” The tall, pale man motioned and head off in a direction opposite from the security tent. Loki obediently trudged after him in slight confusion. The new tent was far tidier than the check point. There were many desks set up, and people seated at each one, clacking away on typewriter keys. The duo ventured further in and rounded a curtained corner. Another man sat at a large, decorated table. He was dressed more casually than the others, but still exuded leadership.  He failed to notice the entrance of the two, as he furrowed his brow at a collection of folders. The man who had lead Loki, cleared his throat.

“Ah, Sherlock!” exclaimed the stressed man.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock began. “I’ve finally found our translator, Loki Odinson.”

Loki stepped forward and saluted his greeting. 

“At ease private,” Lestrade confirmed and stood up to shake the youngster’s hand. “I’m detective investigator Greg Lestrade, your new boss so to speak.”

“Pleased to meet you sir.”

“Pleasure’s all mine. You don’t know how badly we are in need of translators.”

“Glad my skills can be of service to the allies.”

“Marvellous private Odinson, we could really use a go getter such as yourself.” Lestrade walked around so he was beside Loki.

“I see you’ve met detective Holmes,” he pointed to the stoic figure, who stood steps away. “Or should I say, agent Holmes.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes playfully and neared the private and his commander.

“I hope your initial meeting went well; Holmes, Odinson, the both of you are assigned to bunker twenty-one.”

Sherlock inhaled sharply, and the look in his eyes signalled the beginning of protest. Exhaling, he composed himself and nodded to Lestrade.

“Very well.” It was said with visible strain. Loki started to feel unsettled. The agent clearly didn’t want to bunk with him, but he kept silent on the matter. It wasn’t his place to counter the commands of senior personnel.

* * *

 

 

                “Mrs. Pettigrew, I’m afraid your blood pressure has suddenly spiked up.” John carefully announced to an elderly woman.

“I’m glad you came in for a check-up now, instead of prolonging it to next week.” He continued and quickly scribbled a prescription on a sheet of paper. “It would’ve surely gotten worse within a few days.”

The old lady sighed. “My blood pressure hasn’t risen like this since the last war.”

John paused his writing hand, to listen to Mrs. Pettigrew. “My husband wants to delve back into the ‘action’, as he puts it. Our daughters have moved back with us for the time being. Their husbands have left for Europe as well. The house is fuller than usual, and I also have to worry about Mr. Pettigrew’s delusions!” She gently hopped off the examination table and reached for her coat on the rack. 

“What about you dearie? Are there any brothers or cousins, or friends heading off soon? What about your father?” She already knew not to ask him directly, due to his injury.

“Oh no, no family members have signed up, or at least I don’t think so. But one of my friends has left already, actually.”

“Is that so?”

John looked down towards his feet. “Yeah, I miss him terribly.”

“I’m sure he’ll come back in one piece Dr. Watson.” Mrs. Pettigrew consoled and received the prescription. Despite the effort John didn’t find the words reassuring. When she left, his anger boiled to a dangerous point. Everyone was leaving to fight except for him. It hurt his ego to hear that even the elderly were trying. He was just a lonely cripple, and Sherlock’s physical absence damaged him further. John raised his healing leg and kicked the metal examination table with all his might. A horrible pain shot up the disturbed appendage. With that, the doctor sunk to the ground. “Sherlock! Sherlock help me God damn it!” He cried with maddening anger. “Please come back.”

* * *

 

 

                “Here we are,” Sherlock plainly presented the bunker to the new translator. Loki walked in and settled himself and his bag, on the bed to the left. Sherlock tossed him some woolly blankets and a pillow, from a compartment in the metal ceiling.

“I’ll be back.” The agent said with one leg out of the door. “Supper is in thirty minutes. I suggest you come even if you’re not hungry; orientation is at the same time.” 


	5. Belgium, part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story!

                The sun had not yet risen over the Scottish base, yet the bustling sounds of sleepy soldiers murmured through the atmosphere. All ranks of the staff stood impeccably erect, saluting at the Union Jack. A trumpet suddenly blasted near Loki’s ear, and made him jump at the horrendous sound. The other men lined in his queue, tried to hide their chortling laughs. Loki shook off his embarrassment and resumed the military stance. He glanced from the corner of his eye, to see Sherlock saluting a few feet away, with Lestrade and the rest of the agency crew. His chin was held up with famed British pride, despite the heavy breezes whipping through his army-green trench coat. Entranced by the majesty Sherlock seemed to exude, Loki tried to mimic the stance.

“Looks like you’ve got a shadow.” Lestrade giggled while elbowing the detective. Sherlock stared out at the long haired translator expecting to feel annoyed, but instead felt a simmer of admiration within.

 

                “Alright, I want the lot of you to pack any technical equipment that can fit into this bag here. Yes, yes, I know it’s not very large, so prioritization is key.” The D.I. ordered to scrambling staff members in the tent. “We set sail for Belgium at eighteen hundred hours. If anyone is lagging behind, so be it.”

He strode back to his desk where Sherlock sat. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere. I thought our sector would never be needed outside of the United Kingdom. Have you ever been to Belgium?”

“He’s only nineteen.” The agent responded, totally off topic.

“Who is?”

“Loki Odinson.”

“So? There are kids here that still need to turn eighteen. Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t, I….” Sherlock allowed himself to trail off. He couldn’t seem to find a legible excuse. The agent really did care for the translator. They had chatted briefly and sparsely at breakfast about his rich-tuned-humble background. True it was that Loki had witnessed a glimpse of terror, but there was still an air of innocence to him.

“What was that?” Lestrade asked absent mindedly.

“Nothing.” Sherlock left his seat. “I should probably start packing now.”

 

                To Odinson’s surprise, the boat he and the intelligence troops boarded was smaller, yet nicer than the large vessels that carried regular soldiers. He smiled as the warmth of the interior cascaded over his freezing hands. Though his new destination was expected to be exceedingly dangerous, Loki felt more at ease than on the ride to Scotland.

“May I put my bag in the room?” He asked his commander. Lestrade allowed it and Loki head off to where the bunks were located. He gently dropped the tired bag onto a nearby desk, and retrieved a jar of preserved berries from it. Twisting off the lid, he reveled in the familiar homely scents. Loki gingerly scooped up a morsel with his fingers and hungrily licked it off. He then decided that it was a perfect time to write a letter to his parents. Luckily, a pad of paper and some fountain pens presented themselves at the desk he settled into.

Kjaere Mamma og Pappa,

_It’s been quite the few days so far. The seriousness of war has not approached me yet, and I am thankful for it. I’ve been sleeping far more than usual lately. I slept on the van to the port, then on the boat to Scotland (forgot to mention, my base is actually located in northern Scotland, not England), and we were allowed longer resting hours at the base, because we were leaving soon. As I write to you, I sit on another ferry, this time on the way to Belgium. It’s hard to take in how fast everything is going. But when I eat a piece of rabbit or some of the berries, I feel at peace. Even if it’s just for a moment._

Prov a ikke bekymre meg for mye, _try not to worry about me too much._

Kjaerlighet, _Loki_

He concluded the letter with a mark of red, from the fruit’s stain left on the tips of his fingers.

 

                Sherlock pushed through the heavy, metal door to the outside deck open. He leaned forward against the railing and fished for a cigarette and some matches, within his coat pocket. He inhaled the nicotine quickly and sighed dark smoke out of his body. He suddenly felt the strange sensation, of a pair of eyes piercing at his backside, and abruptly turned around. Loki sat on a large, sealed waste bin behind the detective and looked down when their eyes met.

“Odinson, pardon me, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry I startled you Mr. Holmes.” He whispered and huddled further into his jacket.

“You didn’t startle me.” Sherlock gruffly insisted. The translator replied with silence, and went back to reading his little book.

“Is that a bible?”

Loki peered up again. “Well technically speaking, it probably would have been one a long time ago. It’s a collection of Norwegian legends.”

“Oh,” the agent sighed, breathing more smoke out. He proceeded to near Loki. “Care for one?” He asked, reaching a tobacco filled tube to the youngster.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

* * *

 

                “First and foremost, we must contact Mussolini before invading, mein fuhrer.” A portly German attendant advised. “Belgium is much too close to the British Islands, and it neighbours France. To invade without help would be disastrous.”

The large, hall echoed empty words back to the attendant. A slick haired and moustached man boredly occupied a chair a few feet away. Adolf Hitler leaned from his seat to a shadowed corner to the left, and whispered. From the darkness, a sleekly suited male walked forward to stand under a dulling chandelier light.

“Mein fuhrer has considered your suggestion.” He said, surprising the German with a British accent.

“But he thinks that, not only should we strike Belgium solo, we should also send just a quarter of the militia.”

“But, but, that’s insane!”

The neat man smiled evilly. “From what I can tell, you obviously wouldn’t know the saying; big things can come in small packages.”

A little shaken, the portly man rushed out of the room.

“I swear it, James Moriarty! With you here, my kingdom may just win this nuisance of a battle.” Hitler began in a joyous tone. “In thanks, I shall award you as prince of my new, pure kingdom. I of course, will rule as king.”

Moriarty peered at his reflection in a hanging mirror, and adjusted his tie. “I like the sound of that, mein fuhrer.”


	6. Belgium, part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

            “Let’s go! Let’s go! Put your backs into it men!” A drill sergeant yelled out. It had been a little over seven months, since Loki and Sherlock, along with the rest of the British troops, landed on the coast of Belgium. The Norwegian wasn’t surprised to encounter rigorous amounts of training within the first few days. But after all these months, the brute physicality of it all was still exhausting to go through. Finally Loki crawled through the last centimetre of mud and barbed wire, of the training field. Clutching his rifle to his chest, he stayed on the ground to catch his breath, when a pair of familiar boots marched in front of him.

“Time for another go at the radios Odinson. Maybe this time you’ll get something right.”

Loki just chuckled in response. He and the agent seemed to have formed a kind bond since their boat ride. The exchange of sarcastic remarks and friendly pokes, were the best parts of the translator’s days. They served as a constant and welcome reminder of Thor. Sherlock offered his arm, and the youngster took it gratefully.

“Christ! Are your hands always this cold?” Exclaimed the detective.

Loki shrugged in reply, and the duo walked over to an army jeep parked not too far away. Their ride to the barracks was relatively quiet; with the only noise coming from the struggling engine, and the rustling of fresh tree leaves.

“Do you know what today’s date is?” Sherlock asked abruptly.

“April seventh?”

“It’s April eighth.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry to inform you that an unfortunate event has occurred this morning.”

“What happened?” Loki’s gut churned slightly. Things had been at bay so far. If it wasn’t for the training, and the absence of his family, the translator could’ve sworn he was on vacation, in the Belgian country side.

“Norway has been declared as officially occupied by Nazi forces.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock momentarily took his focus off the bumpy road. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I haven’t been in my homeland for more than a year now, Mr. Holmes. As far as I’m concerned, _Norge_ has been occupied ever since people started leaving.”

Unsure of whether to respond sympathetically or not, the agent dropped the subject all together. “Mr. Holmes is my father. You and I work in the same sector, so just call me Sherlock from now on.”

The translator tested the English name on his Norwegian tongue. “Well in that case you can notify me as Loki.”

“I don’t know about that; Odinson sounds a lot better to me.”

 

* * *

 

            “ _Frigga_ _min kjaere, kommer tilbake til sengen._ Frigga my dear, come back to bed.” Odin pleaded tiredly. In the middle of sleeping, he had turned over on the bed and realized his wife wasn’t on her side. Instead she stood by a tiny fireplace in the centre of the room. Twisting her greying blonde hair nervously, Frigga fed misshapen rocks and leaves into the flames.

Oh no, not now!” Odin whined and threw the comforter back. He stomped up next to the solemn lady.

“Odin please, I only wish to see our son.”

“You did the very same thing when Thor left, and nothing happened.”

“Yes, but this is a completely different circumstance, it has to work.”

“Did you not read the letter Frigga? Loki said he was fine!” The old man was now raising his voice in desperation. In times of worry, some mothers’ pick up hobbies or prayed. But this woman would try to open a portal, a type of ‘looking glass’, to watch the object of her anxiety. Her husband spent years trying to decode her obsession with divination. But Frigga’s constant response was that it was in her namesake.

“I need to know that my child is safe.” She whispered in to her folded hands, which clutched an ancient omen. To her unrelenting disappointment, the fire rapidly shrunk in size until it was totally gone. Only ash and stone remained of her efforts.

“How alright is he going to be in the middle of battle fields?” Odin tried to reason.

“Loki is just a translator, not a fighter. He will be safer than most, but still I-“

“And what if a Nazi comes into the bunker he’s hidden in and slits his throat? Then what Frigga?”

“I’ll die!” The exhausted woman dropped beside the bed and sobbed loudly. The old man rubbed his head in regret, coming to realization he had taken it too far.

 _“Tilgi meg,_ forgive me.” He rested a warm hand on his wife’s tense shoulder. “I have been worried about Loki too. Believe me, I have. But we are a sea apart from each other. You and I can no longer protect him from the world.”

Frigga dried her eyes with a corner of the comforter. “This worry is starting to take a toll on me. There has to be something we can do for him, something that can assure Loki’s return.” She sniffed.

Odin pursed his lips in thought before announcing, “I’ll go into town tomorrow and make a telephone call.”

“And who will you be speaking to?”

“Thor.”

* * *

 

 _9 May 1940_. Loki paused the typing of his report, and shuddered at another bomb blast. Though the fighting was miles and miles away, every explosion sounded like it was approaching the British base. Most of the troops had gone to battle out invading Germans, including Sherlock, but a few men were posted around the barracks for security’s sake. Loki couldn’t find the energy within him to continue on the paper, so he fixated his eyes to the window in front of him.

“I don’t think there will be any shooting stars out tonight, shadow.” Lestrade snickered as he puffed on a cigar.

“How can you be so calm at such a time? The majority of your agency is out there.” Loki asked, clearly stressed.

“Everyone deals with fear differently Odinson. I smoke, and you stare out of windows. Now don’t you have a report or something to write?”

The translator was about to look back to the typewriter, when he spotted figures walking towards the base.

“They’re back!” He announced and rushed out of the office bunker, nearly tripping over the door step.

“Sherlock! Sherlock where are you?” Loki yelled as he dodged the other soldiers. They were coming in crowds now, and the young man was getting swallowed up by the walking waves. He forced his way through group after group, but the agent was nowhere to be found. Loki’s brows furrowed in nervousness. Despite his brain demanding against it, his gut told him to look in the infirmary.

The main entrance was already jammed with soldiers on stretchers. Loki prayed silently for his friend not to be among them, as he walked through the back door. He rounded a corner to finally see Mr. Holmes, thankfully conscious and lounging on a chair. His coat hung neatly behind it, and his left shirt sleeve was rolled up. Sherlock held his right hand firmly to his upper left arm. Loki could see thin drops of blood, squeezing between his closed fingers.

“Sherlock?” The translator breathed and stood next to the injured man.

“We lost.” Was all the detective replied in a deadpan voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Belgium has now become axis territory.”

Loki became startled with confusion. Was the war over? Could he go back home? He pushed the overwhelming thoughts aside for now. There was a more pressing matter to attend to.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Just a slight bullet graze, nothing serious.”

“Let me take a look.”

The agent removed his blood drenched hand from its position. He winced a little as Loki’s fingers traced over the open wound.

“You need stitches.” He declared. “I could patch you up, if you’d like. It seems that all the medics are busy at the moment. It won’t take long.”

“Since when did you know how to do that?”

“Since I completed my first aid training, two days ago.” Loki assured while rummaging for supplies. Sherlock hesitated at first, but continued to allow the novice to work on him.

“It’s better if you look away.” Loki advised, before starting the stitching. Sherlock did as he was told, and turned to face the other way. During the silent period between the two, Holmes couldn’t help but think of John. A few years ago, he had gotten injured such as this, during a hunt for a fugitive. Watson had a look of sheer terror, when he found his man slumped against the apartment door, red liquid staining the arm of his jacket. Sherlock grinned absent mindedly, while remembering John rambling on and on about being more careful. His insistent chatter had been more soothing than obnoxious to the detective.

“Done,” Loki said, ending the agent’s flashback. Sherlock turned to face the young man. It was too quick of a movement, and their faces ended up only inches away from contact. Stuck in an awkward position, Loki noticed a small cut bleeding on Sherlock’s face. Without even hesitating to consider the action, he pressed his lips to the cold cheek, and probed his tongue to lick off the cascading blood. Within seconds, Loki came to his senses and parted in shock. He looked down, then up again to apologize, but the agent’s seat was still with emptiness.


	7. Welcome to the Blitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

                Loki lay awake in his bed late at night, the rusty taste of blood suddenly lingering through his mouth again. It seemed to be like that almost every evening since the awkward encounter with Sherlock. The troops only had so many hours to rest, and poor Loki couldn’t even salvage that. The night the translator patched the agent up, Holmes did not return to the bunker they shared. In fact the Norwegian didn’t see a glimpse of him until the next month. He had known better though, than to search after him, as it would only make matters worse. Since Sherlock’s return, not only did the agent enter the bunker sparsely, he also halted sitting with Odinson during mealtimes. Nor did he visit during training, or continue to tutor the young man on the use of military technology. And of course, the friendly chatter that they grew happily accustomed to was most definitely done with. Loki turned to his side and tossed off the itchy blanket. The hot August night was unbearable, and it contributed to his restlessness. He stared intently at the empty bed beside his. He felt a tinge of anger pulse through his mind. Sherlock’s immature passive aggressiveness was becoming irritating. With the war’s intensity rising fast, there was no other option than to rely on each other. But it was obvious that reconciliation was far from either soldier’s mind.

Sherlock found himself staring blankly at a sheet of paper. He was unable to concentrate on writing a letter to John, yet again. A nagging guilt tugged at him inside, as he had not sent a single letter to the doctor since his departure.

“Just write!” The detective whispered to himself. But what could he say to his awaiting boyfriend? _Sorry I haven’t sent any mail to you, as another man has caught my eye. You were right about that Watson._ A frustrated noise escaped his mouth. He slumped back into the chair and rubbed his eyes. Sherlock subconsciously placed a finger upon his cheek and circled around the healed cut. Despite the numerous weeks that passed, Holmes could still feel Loki’s soft tongue on his skin every now and then. All of a sudden, Lestrade barged into the agency bunker.

“Holmes, we need you in field A, now.”

Sighing, Sherlock decided that he would need to prolong writing to the doctor once more.

“By the way,” Lestrade continued. “You were wondering if there were any single bunkers left, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“There’s one cleared up for you if you’d like. It’s near field C.”

Sherlock bit his lip in half regret, announcing, “that won’t be necessary anymore sir. Thank-you anyway.”

 

                Loki was in full concentration mode, as he worked on the military radios. With the German occupation of Belgium in full force, and making their presence known in France; the allied forces had to proceed their work with extreme caution. The translator was to switch the stations, and make sure they were untraceable by the enemy. He stopped momentarily as a white noise began within the headphones he wore. He quickly fiddled with the dials to get a clearer connection.

“Hello… Hello?” A small voice called out. Loki continued to turn dials and tap buttons, until the voice became less fuzzy.

“Hello?” A British accent rang.

“Yes hello there. You’ve reached the Belgian base of the Royal British Army, sector 221.” The translator’s words wavered a bit, as it was his first time speaking over the radio without supervision. Without Sherlock’s supervision.

“Oh thank gosh!” The soldier on the other side exclaimed breathlessly. “I’ve gotten a hold of some alarming news.”

“Alright soldier, but first state your name.”

“My name is James. I’m a private in the Royal Air Force.”

“I need your full name.”

“I don’t have time for that, and neither do you!”

“What is the problem private?” Loki asked nervously.

“The Nazis, they’re going to bomb London!”

The translator’s heart dropped to his feet. “How do you know that?”

“Never mind how, I need the coordinates of the base in London stat! That way I can contact the generals to warn them.”

While James spoke, the young man skimmed through a book of coordinates. “Okay, I have the numbers. Listen carefully: 51.5072 degrees north, 0.1275 degrees west, did you get that?”

The private laughed in what seemed like relief. “Yes I did, thank goodness! What’s your name soldier?”

“Loki Odinson.”

“Well Loki Odinson, thank you very much for all of your help.” He then disconnected, and the translator mentally patted himself on the back, satisfied at the outcome of his independent task. He couldn’t wait to share the great news with the rest of the crew, and especially shove it in Sherlock’s face.

 

* * *

 

                Thor Odinson sat hunched over on a stool at a bar. “Another beer please.” He quietly alerted the bartender. Gratefully claiming another glass, he downed it immediately. Most who saw Odin’s eldest son would say, he was fit to be called the perfect soldier. From the outside that is, inside Thor couldn’t be less prepared. He was still shaken up by a phone call he received months ago, in the middle of the night:

“Thor?”

“Father what is it?” The bearded man bolted upright in bed upon hearing his father’s distress.

“ _Det er broren din,_ it’s your brother.”

“Is he alright?”

“That is what I need to speak to you about.”

“ _Jeg forstar ikke,_ I don’t understand.”

Odin went on to tell him about Loki’s decision to join the war efforts, to ultimately help in freeing Norway. Although he was only with the intelligence team, their parents’ minds were weary with worry. Thor had left for North America in the midst of the rising tensions. War had dawned over Europe, but America had not yet confirmed its involvement. The old man was hinting at his eldest to go to England and enlist with the army, in order to keep an eye on Loki.

“And what if I am sent to a completely different base than his?”

“Insist on Belgium Thor, we are counting on you to do this.”

The bearded man looked back at his soundly sleeping girlfriend, Jane. He thought thoroughly about the proposition. “I’ll do it _pappa_.” He sighed as the burden of family weighed on him once more.

So, earlier that summer he journeyed to the epicentre of England. He enlisted, was accepted, but still hadn’t stepped into the battle ridden country. Thor passed the time patiently by preparing physically, talking to his parents, and hanging around local bars.

Suddenly, the dark interior of the business was invaded by a flash of sun from the exterior. As the wooden door heaved open, a short and clean shaven man head straight for the bar counter.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked Thor.

“It’s all yours.”

“I will take a brown ale.” The stranger announced to the waiter.

“Sorry to let you down, but I don’t think they have any ales here.” Thor advised. “I haven’t seen it on their menus or heard anybody order it.”

The stranger smirked. “Well, when you’ve been around here as long as I have, you catch on to a few things.”

The bartender arrived with the drink. “I’ll buy another glass, for this fellow right here.” The man ordered again.

“Thanks,” Thor said dubiously.

“Don’t mention it. Here’s to new experiences.”

The duo clinked their cups of ale and downed them at once. “I’m John, by the way. John Watson.” He held his hand out, and the American shook it.

“Thor Odinson.”

“Pleased to meet you. If you don’t mind me asking, you’re not from around here are you?”

“Your guess is right. I’m a Norwegian purebred, but I moved to the ‘States during spring of thirty-nine.”

“Ah, that explains the accent.”

“And yourself?”

“I am as English as a plate of bangers and mash.”

Thor laughed heartily at John’s retort. And the doctor had a chuckle too, the first one in a long time. He enjoyed the man’s company, but frowned to see the royal military ensign embroidered on his jacket. It signalled that they may never see each other again.

“You’re in the army?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of the whole reason why I’m here. I got a telephone call from my father, saying my idiot brother went to join the military. He has sent them one letter so far, but they’re still very concerned. I’m going to basically look after him.”

“Wow, that is quite a story. I hope you end up finding your brother.”

“I hope so too.”

A silent minute passed by as the men sipped on more drinks.

“Have you enlisted yet?”

“Oh, I can’t,” John insisted and patted his leg. “It’s a little messed up.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell in the least.”

“It’s no matter staying behind anyway. I am a doctor, and people are in need of me here.”

“Or you could enlist as a medic.”

Watson’s face became thoughtful. If he was stationed in Belgium, he and his dear Sherlock would be reunited. Not to mention he could also confront the detective on the complete lack of mail being sent. But would it seem intrusive? Would Holmes then think of him as obsessive? Well, if he did, it would certainly be the least of their worries in the middle of a war.

“It was just a suggestion.” Thor reminded, as the doctor seemed a little zoned out.

“And thank you for it Mr. Odinson! To tell you the truth, I would have never…”

The crowded bar winded down to a complete quiet and John trailed off, as a random whistling noise, coming from outside, seemed to be getting louder and louder.

“Everybody get on the floor!” Thor shrieked and abruptly shoved the doctor and himself, underneath the counter. An explosion followed the racket, and the windows of the bar shattered. Debris from buildings across the way flew to all corners of the establishment.

“What was that?”

“It was a bomb.”

 And within seconds, an abundance of whistles from the air, exploded into the city of London.


	8. Climax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

                “Mein fuhrer!” Moriarty shouted, as he burst through the double doors to the dictator’s lair.

“He is currently in a meeting.” The same portly attendant snapped. The Brit turned abruptly and pointed a pistol at the man’s face.

“That’s not what I wanted to hear, you fucking fat sausage.”

In return, the man stuttered; “alright, alright! You can go in!”

James snickered at the reaction, and stashed his gun into his jacket. He proceeded to enter the main hall, but not without throwing the frightened attendant a dirty look.

He slowly creaked the door open, and one by one, the men seated at a long table looked toward him.

“Moriarty, what brings you here, at this very moment?” Adolf seethed, rising from position at the head of the table.

“Now now fuhrer, there’s no need to rise at the presence of little ole me.” James replied cheekily. He walked ahead and peered in between the chairs of Nazi members, to see a large map of Europe.

“So what is it that you boys are doing? Playing war? Let’s see, you take over some countries and it’ll earn you fifty points. Although at this rate you’re in the thousands, correct? But Mr. Hitler is jonesing for more. So you round up a few Jews in Austria, demolish a couple of Roma camps in Hungary, and arrest some homosexuals in Netherlands. Mein fuhrer is sure to get into the millions of points soon.” Moriarty now stood directly next to the baffled dictator.

“But there is something clearly missing: the west. Your friend Franco’s regime has a hold on Spain, and France couldn’t have folded any faster at your feet. So what’s out of the picture? Ah yes, my humble home, Great Britain. An empire admittedly better than the one of your dreams. With her under your belt, then it’s all set, and you win.’

“What is the meaning of this?” Hitler asked angrily.

“She’s falling mein fuhrer!” James announced loudly for the other officials to hear. “I’ve always been blessed with a strong tie to luck.” He affirmed and reached behind Adolf’s ear to reveal a shiny penny.

“The day before last, I tapped wire after wire to find a British base. Then I came across a station in Belgium. Now aren’t you lucky to have me on your side? With my voice, the poor bastard on the other side had not a single clue! I cried to him ‘the Germans are coming, the Germans are coming to bomb England!’” The table of Nazis tried to stifle their laughter at Moriarty’s antics.

“I said to him ‘give me the coordinates of the base in London’. The little shit did me one better, did us all one better. He gave me the numbers to the civilians’ London. So I flew in some aces and began the blitz, and it’s not stopping anytime soon. When should it stop? I don’t care, that’s up to you mein fuhrer. But know this, I will continue until the heart is bombed out of that country.” At that, the seated men stood up and gave a round applause to the evil genius. He bowed dramatically, and tossed the penny to a stunned Hitler. “Congratulations on your nine-hundred-ninety-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-ninety-nineth point. Just one more to go.”

 

* * *

 

                Ah, Mr. Lestrade sir!” Loki waved for his commander’s attention, at a narrow walking path between the training fields.

“It better be important Odinson. I’m more than a little busy at the moment.”

“Oh don’t worry sir; I’m sure this’ll be well worth your time.”

The translator had waited patiently for this moment. He would’ve told them about his task sooner, but all of the upper personnel locked themselves into the meeting room, before notification. And Loki was not invited to attend the discussion.

The duo walked briskly to the agency bunker. The everlasting grin on Loki’s face only widened upon entering to see Sherlock working on other military machines. “What is it then?” Lestrade barked.

“I received a transmission, from a private in our air force the day before yesterday.”

The agency commander’s face turned quizzical, and the detective spun around in his chair. The other agents in the room quieted down as well.

“He told me he had heard word of the Nazis planning to bomb London. He asked for the coordinated for our bases there, in order to warn them. So I gave him the numbers. And I guess that means England has narrowly missed, what would have been a gruesome attack.”

Deafening silence and mouths hung open met the young man’s ears and eyes.  “Come on you guys, it’s okay now. We’re just fine.”

“We are not fine.” Lestrade stifled out. “We have been-“

“You ruined us!” Sherlock angrily announced and stomped up to a suddenly timid Loki.

“You gave the coordinates for the city of London. You know, the place where thousands of innocent civilians reside?”

“Then doesn’t that mean, London has been warned? Their safe now.”

Sherlock’s rage grew at the translator’s naivety. He grabbed Loki by the shirt collar and roughly shoved him against the metal wall.

“The city has just been bombed by fucking Nazis!” You gave the coordinates to a weasel!” He slammed his forearm into the translator’s rib cage. “I swear Odinson, if anything happens to John because of this I’ll-“

“Holmes, that’s enough!” Lestrade ordered. Reluctantly, the detective dropped Loki to the floor, and stormed out the door. The young man curled into himself, clutching his chest.

“Go back to your bunker Odinson. Don’t bother showing up tomorrow; you’ve been released from your duties until further notice.” The commander said with a voice full of disappointment.

 

                Loki and Sherlock’s relationship continued to strain. But not only was the translator quarantined from the detective, he was refused upon trying to interact with the other crew members. He was shunned by the people he tried so hard to help. It seemed that his dream of returning him and his family to Norway would never be realized.

The translator sat on his bed glumly. The atmosphere was quickly filling with depression and bloodshed, and there was nothing he could do about it. Loki peered out of the bunker’s small window and saw Sherlock (for the first time in another while), making his way to their building. The detective casually walked in but paid absolutely no heed to Loki. He stayed to his side of the room and turned over boxes, pulled out secret drawers and cupboards, in efforts to search for something.

“Have you seen my revolver?” Holmes asked in a fed up tone, but refused to face the young man. Loki’s eyes vacantly panned through the cabin’s interior, until they rested upon the gun, which lay under the detective’s bed. He reached for it and then slowly passed by in front of the agent. He opened the door wide and violently chucked the weapon outside, and calmly sealed the door shut.

“I haven’t seen it.”

The dark-haired detective narrowed his eyes furiously.

“Damn you Odinson.” He stepped dangerously close to the Norwegian.

“Screw you Sherlock.” Loki spat.

“Fuck you.”

_“Knulle deg!”_

“Fuck you!”

_“Knulle deg!”_

“Fuck you and your stupid country.”

“ _Knulle deg!”_

“Fuck you and your family!”

_“Knulle meg, knulle meg!”_

“I can’t fucking understand what you’re saying!” Sherlock screamed in frustration. Loki stared into the watery eyes of the breathless man.

“Fuck me.”

At that, the agent gingerly held his hands on either sides of the translator’s head, and proceeded to smash their lips together. Loki heard his pulse jump start and felt Sherlock’s too. He moaned and rolled his eyes closed, half in lust, half in pain. Loki’s knees buckled and the detective gently dragged him to his bed. He placed the dazed translator on his back and started kissing his way down the pale skinny body. Sherlock ripped Loki’s trousers off and faced a rather impressive erection for the slim young adult. Odinson felt his solid cock become enveloped in damp warmth, and a strong fleshy organ lapping at it roughly. With his breath quickening, Loki snaked his fingers through the mass of black hair, which tickled against his hips. His first climax was almost dawning, when he suddenly received a very un-welcomed bite come down hard on his genitals.

He screamed at the impact, and started to cry. Addressing the problem, Sherlock immediately regretted his action, and scooped the tearful man into his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Loki!” He apologized sincerely.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” He hugged the Norwegian tighter.

“Please forgive me! Forgive me.”

The translator revelled in the strong embrace before parting.

“You are forgiven,” he breathed wearily, and softly kissed the agent’s sweaty forehead. In turn, Holmes swept strands of long hair behind Loki’s ears. “But now,” Odinson continued, aggressively pushing him to the mattress. “It’s my turn.”

He ripped through the buttoned shirt and licked heat back into each lingering goose bump on Sherlock’s abdomen. Before proceeding to go beneath the torso, Loki signalled an ‘is this okay with you?’ glance, to avoid any further problems.

“Do your worst, frost giant.”

 

* * *

 

                John inhaled the salty sea air of the English Channel into his lungs, as he stood on the outer deck of a military boat. He slowly opened his eyes and fondly took in the sight of the water. It had been a while since he had last travelled over the sea.

“There you are.” A deep voice boomed behind the doctor.

“Oh, hello Thor.” John smiled. The American walked up and stood beside him.

“Well, here we are.” Thor announced in a small voice. “The open sea today, bloody battlefields tomorrow.”

John’s peaceful complexion turned uneasy.

“Come on now doctor, it probably won’t be all that bad. Especially since I’ve got this.” The bearded man reached into his uniform shirt to expose a pendant that hung on a cord, around his neck. It was a sizeable silver bead, shaped almost like a blunt arrowhead.

“What is it?” John inquired.

“Mjolnir. The god of thunder’s trusty companion, the slayer of all evils. I happen to be a very superstitious man, doctor. I hope you don’t mind it.”

“Not at all.” And the blond man’s grin was restored.

“So what do you think your reaction will be like, when you and your friend are reunited?” Thor asked, remembering Watson’s mentions of Sherlock.

“That’s a tough question. I’m not quite sure.” As John was too busy preparing himself to be a war medic, to really think about the matter.

“How about you and your brother?”

Thor deeply thought about it. He thought about the late night phone call, the tiring trip to Europe, the endless training, and of course, the showers of bombs over his head in England.

“When I am reunited with my dear baby brother, I’m going to punch him in the fucking face.”


	9. Recollection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

                Can I take the blindfold off now?” Sherlock whined impatiently.

“Just wait a few seconds _kjaere_.” Loki hummed. The agent heard the light clinking of glass surfaces meeting, and the twisting removal of a tin cap. He felt his bed become weighed down by the translator’s body.

“Open your mouth.” He ordered with a small laugh. Sherlock did as told, and suddenly tasted a small serving of gamey meat, and chewed it thoughtfully.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s interesting to say the least. Definitely better than what they serve at the canteen! What is it?”

“Canned rabbit, almost two years old and at the peak of its prime.”

The detective ripped off the cloth blindfold. “Really?”

“What, are you allergic to rabbit?”

“Not at all, I just can’t believe that’s what I ate.”

“I’m glad you find it interesting.”

“Did you prepare it?”

“No, actually my mother packed it for me, before I left.” Loki turned his head down sadly. 

Sherlock placed a comforting hand on the translator’s bony shoulder. “Well I can bet that she’s got a whole closet full of canned food, waiting for when you return home.”

The young man chuckled in reply, and stashed the jars away. “Sherlock, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Who is John?”

The detective froze for a millisecond, and gripped the bed’s frame unsurely. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“You must care about him a lot. You were so angry that day, over what could’ve become of him.”

Sherlock was about to continue the conversation, when Lestrade barged in unexpectedly. 

“We’ve finally got some fresh meat! They’re coming to the shore now. Holmes, I need you at the ready to direct them to the canteen, as soon as possible.” He left the pair after passing the information.

“Might as well get some fresh air,” the detective resonated, as relief started to wash over him. “Mustn’t keep the poor bastards waiting.”

 

                John momentarily stood on his toes and craned his neck, to see above the crowds.

“No sign of him yet.” He muttered.

“Come on doctor, we have only just arrived, be patient.” Thor advised.

“I have been up-keeping my patience since the very beginning of this war, but now I’m getting fed up with this waiting game.”

“You’re a war medic now John, becoming fed up is not an option.”

“Says the master of all serenity!” Watson expressed sarcastically.

A few times here and there, during the time spent on the boat, Thor had gotten into a few tussles with some rowdy soldiers. The actions were not bad enough for repercussions; but they were bad enough for the doctor to tend to the bearded man’s scratches and cuts with antiseptic solutions, and such.

“What is it?” John inquired. Thor had stopped in the middle of his tracks, and blankly stared at a small hill, on which previously residing soldiers stood upon. Watson tried to retrieve his attention, but as if in a stony trance, the American ran toward the patch of land, completely disregarding the rest of his crew. Although it had been years and years, Thor could still differentiate between long black hair, and long black hair that belonged to his brother. 

As he stood bored, on the sandy hill, Loki suddenly heard the steady beat of footsteps increase in tempo. As he went to face the source, the translator’s neutral expression morphed into one of happy surprise, when he spotted a blonde man running in his direction.

“ _Broren!_ Brother!” Loki stretched his arms wide for a hug, but instead felt the force of a powerful fist meeting his nose.

“ _Forbanner deg!_ Damn you!” Thor roared. The translator tumbled to the ground and clutched his nose tenderly.

“ _Hva erg alt med deg?_ What’s wrong with you?” The young man screamed.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with-“ Thor didn’t get to finish his sentence. At that moment, a tall trench-coated man, pummelled the brawny American to the ground.

“Sherlock?” John gasped as he finally arrived upon the sandy dune, to witness the goings-on. The agent continuously punched his target, until Loki pleaded.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, please stop! He’s my brother!”

Watson stared at the long haired man that called to his lover, with such familiarity. Hearing Loki’s shouts, Holmes released Thor from his angry hits.

“Stand at attention private!” he commanded. The bruised male stood vertical, breathlessly.

“State your name.”

“Thor Odinson, sir.”

Sherlock’s rage silenced, and he turned to the youngster. “He’s your sibling?”

“Yes.” Loki replied timidly.

“Then why, may I ask, did he attack you so savagely? Such behaviour could never be expected from a true Norwegian.”

Thor winced at the insult. “I beg your pardon sir. But my brother’s involvement with the military has brought our family much suffering.”

Loki frowned with deep shame, and his blond brother explained further. “Our parents have been stricken with grief and worry since his departure. They are struggling more than ever to make ends meet, as he was the main source of help on the farm for them. Though my greeting was unorthodox, it was in fact necessary.”

“I’ll take it from here Holmes,” interrupted the translator.

“No need to _broren,_ we need to head to the canteen anyway, right John?”

Loki and Sherlock spun abruptly to meet the awkwardly planted man. 

_So that’s John_. The long haired man thought to himself.

The agent found that Watson’s eyes stayed on his tall figure, obviously expecting a warm reunion. But for the first time, Sherlock felt no race of pulse, or heat flush through his being. His emotion remained flat as ever upon meeting the gaze of the doctor.

“Please proceed to the canteen, doctor Watson.” He mumbled. The corners of John’s mouth slowly turned downward, but he obeyed, and tagged after his new friend.

The detective waited until Watson disappeared over the horizon, until approaching the mildly injured Loki. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

                “Odinson!” Lestrade called, as he entered the infirmary. Loki had just finished with the readjustment of his nose, and the nurse scuttled away when the D.I. arrived.

“Leave him be for a while Greg.” Holmes advised.

“What happened to him?”

“Long story.”

“No, it’s alright, what did you need sir?” The translator assured wearily.

“I need the name of the soldier who contacted you over the radio that day.”’

“Why hasn’t that been solved already?” Sherlock asked in an impatient tone.

“We could not figure it out on our own, no matter what. I hadn’t realized that Odinson’s perspective would have serviced us greatly.”

Loki nodded in acceptance of the underlying apology. “He said his name was James.”

At that, the detective rose from his seat next to the Norwegian. “Loki, come with me to the agency bunker.”

The translator obediently followed Sherlock, and Lestrade tried to catch up.

“Do you remember what station it was on?” Holmes asked hurriedly.

“I will never forget.” Loki dropped into a seat at the radio, and turned the dials expertly. He once again, heard the small voice break through the white nose, inside the headphones.

“Hello?”

“Loki Odinson, how nice it is to listen to your voice again. How are you these days?” Said the familiar British accent.

“It’s him,” the translator whispered to Sherlock and Lestrade. The detective silently moved Loki aside and retrieved the head set. 

“Working with the Nazis now, eh Moriarty? That’s a new low.”

“Oh my goodness gracious, am I speaking to Sherlock Holmes?”

“What’s your business with the Germans?”

“Getting right to the point, just like old times. I’m loving the nostalgia.”

“Then if memory serves you right, you’ll remember I’m always short on time.” Holmes growled.

“In that case, I think we should meet up, just the two of us. You know, sociopath to sociopath.”

“Name the time and place.”

“Here and now.”

The agent’s face became quizzical and confused as he searched out of the window for his nemesis. He proceeded to remove the headset and cautiously walked out the door. “Stay here,” he warned the others.

The outdoors of the base seemed normal enough, and the area was under such heavy surveillance, that there was no way even Moriarty, could get through without arrest.

“ _Pssst,”_ a tiny noise alerted Sherlock’s ears, and he sauntered towards it. He stopped at the wire gates that bordered the base from forest and enemy. Sure enough James Moriarty stood on the other side, amongst the trees.

“Very impressive,” the agent applauded sarcastically. “You definitely spooked me this time.”

“I’m not here for spooks, Holmes.” James affirmed.

“Then exactly why are you here?”

“That is quite a lame question for someone who prides their intelligence, above all else. C’mon now Sherlock, I’m here to gamble, I’m here to play to win it all. You know I never quite understood it when mother used to tell me, ‘a criminal record will get you nowhere son’, ‘cause here I am: the right hand man to the Nazi leader. And doing a job leagues finer than him, if I may say.”

“Your frauds and scheming in England seemed to be getting you far. Why the sudden self-promotion to the axis?”

Moriarty satirically pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good God, I grow so tired of your stupid questions. You are a fucking detective, solve it! But I’ll pardon you this time; see Sherlock, all of my frauds and scheming points to every mastermind’s dream of ruling the world. This Hitler fellow’s rise to power came at the perfect time for me. I was down to my last million, nearly impoverished! All the while, Adolf was searching far and wide for a spy; apparently I couldn’t be a more perfect candidate. And between you and me,” Moriarty now leaned his face against the fence, and motioned for the detective to near. But Sherlock stayed put in his stance a few feet away.

“I don’t really have a thing against Jews, or Gypsies, or gays like the _fuhrer_ , but if elimination of certain peoples paves a smoother path to dominance, then so be it. If it were up to me, I’d eliminate fucking everybody in my way, especially you.”

“What will it take for this carnage to end, Moriarty? A couple of millions, a fancy penthouse flat, a diamond mine to call your own?” Sherlock listed, clearly unfazed by the fellow Brit’s speech.

“My, my, you are quite the cheapskate. I wonder how your thrifty ways fare with your boyfriend, or should I say, boyfriends.” Moriarty’s hand lingered into his jacket pocket, and he produced a small hand grenade. He tossed it around playfully, as the detective tried to mask his horror.

“Yeah, you know what? I think I’ll just stick to the original plan.” James decided and chucked the bomb, just over Holmes’s head. Its little explosion occurred at a safe distance, but emergency sirens wailed nonetheless.

“Catch you later,” the detective said through gritted teeth, as his nemesis ventured back into the green.

“No you won’t!”


	10. All is Fair in Love and War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

John fidgeted with worry as he sat knees hugged to his chest, underneath the desk in his bunker. Not too long ago, sirens blared wildly in reaction to a small blast. He and Thor had felt a seconds-long quake beneath their feet, but otherwise no other disaster had occurred. It seemed ridiculous to have to take cover under a minor circumstance, but of course at this point, there was no such thing as being too careful. The doorknob of the metal cabin turned, and Thor ventured in.

“You can come out now doctor.”

John exhaled with relief. “Is everything alright?”

“For now it is. The blast was just a single hand grenade, obviously thrown by the Germans to get us riled up. The corporal has decided that we should attack their bases tomorrow.”

Watson twisted his expression into one of uneasiness. Not even a whole twenty-four hours had passed since the duo had set foot in Belgium, and soon all of his preparedness would be put to the test. As if it wasn’t before; the strange greeting from Sherlock confused the poor man to near tears. Now that the orientation was through, and the slight bombing was solved, John could finally have his carefully planned talk with the detective. He quickly read through a long list of soldiers and their assigned bunkers. He was given the paper from management upon arrival. Being a medic, he would need to remember these names, in case an unfortunate notice had to be sent home.

“Do you think it’s okay to go back out?” John asked hopefully.

“I don’t see why not. The mess should be cleaned up by now.”

The doctor nodded as his finger reached the bunker number he was searching for. “I’ll be right back.”

 

                Mud squelched with every step underneath the doctor’s boots. He kept his head pointed to the ground and tried to be as unnoticeable as possible, in case a soldier called for him. No, this feat could not be interrupted, not even by any wounded troops that weighed on his responsibility. He neared the top of a slope and peered down to see Thor’s brother standing just outside the cabin door, John had determinedly looked for. Suddenly, Sherlock arrived on the scene. 

He peered to his left and right carefully, before tightly embracing the long-haired man. Watson gasped sharply, and placed a hand over his breaking heart. To add insult to injury, the detective leaned in and kissed Loki passionately. The doctor’s legs felt like hardened cement. He wanted to do what seemed like the normal thing: to turn around and leave. But he found himself unable to break loose, from the stare he fixated on his cheating man. Loki and Sherlock finally pulled back from their lip-lock, after what seemed like an eternity, and entered their metal cabin. 

As the heavy door shut, Watson was freed from the frozen spell and ran as fast as he could to his bunker. Rain began to fall heavily over his head, and blurred his vision. He continued his fast pace, until he slammed the door open to his cabin. Thor looked up abruptly from cleaning his gun, to see the short man soaked to the bone and visibly upset. The American cautiously walked up to the doctor, after noticing that he did not move a muscle indoors. He stopped inches away, and John grabbed his friend’s broad shoulders and pulled down to kiss him. The bearded man parted abruptly in shock.

“I’m so sorry,” John huffed as the clouds in his mind dispersed. “I didn’t mean to.” 

The American paced through the bunker, trying to shake off the stupor. Despite all of his senses protesting against it, he returned to the doctor for another meeting of lips, but broke it off just as fast.

“I can’t,” he tried to reason to John, and himself. “Jane she-“

“Look, I know you made a promise to someone you love, to not fool around with the secretaries or nurses. I was promised the same thing; just a little different. But my obligation has been smashed into pieces, and I want…. I want revenge.” John quietly raged. “But I will leave it up to you, if you want to help me claim it, be my guest.”

It didn’t take long for Thor to answer. “I promised her not to fool around with secretaries or nurses. Nothing was said about doctors.” At that, the bulky man tackled Watson to one of the beds.

“You’ll be as sore as fuck in the morning, doctor. I apologize for my hammer in advance.” The American drawled seductively.

“What does your necklace have to do with any of this?”

 

                _“Behage Herren, la dem leve._ Please Lord, let them live.” Loki prayed into shaking palms, pressed tightly together. He crouched down lower, as his legs almost gave out due to the nervousness. He and a few other agents were sprawled across the floor of a deep trench, keeping their ears glued to the radios. It was hard to keep focus on work, when each bomb blast sounded like it was getting closer. The responding attack on German bases, had quickly led into its fifth hour. Sherlock and Thor were both out on the front, and the knot in the young Odinson’s stomach was caused by the worry he had for them.

“I will be seeing you later, hopefully.” Announced Lestrade, as he raced by the personnel, heavily armed with large guns.

“Where are you going?” The translator cried in distress.

“To the front, we’re receiving report after report of men down. If we send any more troops out, we’ll be screwed.”

“But you’re only one person. What can’t ten soldiers do, that you can?”

“Shoot fucking straight! I swear, it’s like our entire military is made up of queers.” Lestrade almost laughed, and Loki tittered along despite the low blow.

“I’m off.” And the D.I. jumped over the trench, then charged deep into the battlefield. The translator went back to the machines to try to do his job, but the German words went in one ear and out the other, as a nauseas feeling came over him. He got up again, and puked awkwardly to the far side of the dirt encasement. Loki was about to turn back, when his ears perked up to Norwegian dialogue.

 _“Hjelpe!_ Help!”

Since Loki was the only agent within earshot of the pleas, he went to investigate. He saw a soldier that he slowly recognised from the boat to Scotland, stumbling against the dirt walls

 _“Komme hit, la meg hjelpe deg._ Come here, let me help you.” The young man tried to steady the injured fighter, but he weakly swatted away the aiding hands.

 _“Kom dere bort fra meg, dere skitne homofil!_ Get the fuck away from me, you dirty fag!” The Scandinavian shouted strongly. Too strongly at that, because upon the proclamation’s end, he collapsed to the ground and blood spewed out of his mouth. Loki’s nausea returned as his mind spun with nerve wracking questions. How did this man know? Could he tell during their minor conversation on the boat? Did he know about Sherlock? Did he tell anyone else? 

His thoughts were interrupted by the consistent churning of his stomach. And seeing that the prejudiced man was now dying, he projected the vomit on to the soldier’s lap.

 _“Du vil ga til helvete!_ You will go to hell!” The man croaked.

“Good, it’s nice and warm there. Plus, loads cheaper than a vacation to the Mediterranean.” The translator wryly retorted. The injured man withdrew a final shaky breath, and Loki closed his eye lids. “I’ll see you there.” He stated and smiled to himself.

Sherlock would definitely be proud at his esteemed speech. But the young man’s moment only lasted a few seconds before shouting from the other agents alerted him.

“What’s going on?”

“Well since you were so busy blowing chunks, to pay attention,” an obnoxious employee replied. “We’ve received word that the Germans are starting to load up the planes; they’re going to shoot from above!”

The news hit Odinson like a ton of bricks. The two people he cared the most about were out there. Even though he continued not to acknowledge him any longer, it was still Loki’s duty as a brother to protect Thor. With renewed strength, the translator ran into the midst of the chaos. He scrambled behind allied troops and random growths of nature, trying to fixate his eyes on a green trench coat, and shoulder-length blond hair.

 

                The detective paused for a moment to catch his breath. His arms ached under the weight of the heavy rifle, but if he dropped it for even a second, there would be a greater chance of being harmed. A staggering Nazi approached him trying to attack but failed to have any energy for such. Sherlock lazily aimed his gun and shot the axis through the head. He counted the eleventh one down, but frowned at the prospect of thousands more to go. As if the situation couldn’t get worse, the agent heard the zooming wail of a plane not too far off the ground. With strangely close contact to the earth, it could only mean one thing: machine guns were on board and at the ready. But Holmes was, understandably, exhausted. Instead of running to hide in a dirt hole, he aimed at the airplane’s pilot. He was ready to shoot, but a large body came into his way and blocked him completely. The body seizured violently as it received the many bullets, meant for the agent. The blond, bearded man slouched to the grass. Sherlock then came into realization of who it was, when he heard a terrified scream behind him: “ _Broren!”_

Moriarty peered out of the plane’s window. He furrowed his brows at his missed target, but relaxed back to an evil smile. Judging by the crying man toppled over the body he shot, and the hurrying medic, he had hit someone rather important, which pleased him greatly.


	11. Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

                Dark clouds loomed over the exhausted British base, and hid the rays of sun that had previously reigned. The doctor sighed solemnly as he quickly rinsed blood off surgery equipment in the infirmary bunker; his face was drained of all confidence and colour.

“I’m sorry Dr. Watson,” another medic apologized as he entered the room. “If you had worked on him any longer, you would’ve done more harm than help.”

John just shook his head in reply and mumbled. “I suppose I should notify his brother.” And he shuffled quickly through the corridors. 

 

                Loki slouched against the large building, and went into his jacket pocket to retrieve a lighter for the cigarette hanging from his mouth. But his hands shook too much for a flame to spring up, and he threw the lighter to the ground in frustration. Arriving at that very moment, Sherlock bent down to pick it up, and opened a flame to the slim paper cylinder. 

“Sorry,” Loki mumbled.

“For what?”

“I stole them from your drawers. My stash ran out long ago, and I couldn’t find you to ask and-“

“It’s not a problem, private.”

The sentence seemed to have triggered something, as the translator fell silently to the agent, and burrowed his head against the other’s chest. The detective wrapped himself around his young lover.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Sherlock awkwardly consoled. “One of the best doctors in all of England is taking care of him.”

Loki nodded, straight-faced and the couple parted as John approached them.

“Private Odinson?”

“Don’t beat around the bush doctor.” The young man tried to state steadily. But despite the attempt, his voice trembled with every word. 

Watson respected the request. “He’s fading fast. If there’s anything you want to say to him, do it now.”

Loki strode ahead into the building in response. Before he could open the door to the small intensive care area, John arrived to it first.

“Let me prepare him.” He insisted, and slipped in alone. The doctor neared the heavily breathing man. Cloth bandages enveloped his torso and head. Despite the stitches that lay beneath, blood still managed to leak through.

“How do you feel?” Watson asked with a careful voice.

“I feel numb, but also like there are a million needles piercing into me, all at once.” The bearded man moaned.

The doctor pursed his lips, as if suddenly feeling his friend’s anguish. “I can see if they’ll let me to give you more painkillers.”

Thor waved his hand. “Leave it be doctor, there’s no point now.”

Shielding his sad eyes, Watson turned to the door. “Your brother wishes to speak to you, if you allow it.”

“Send him in.”

“Before I do,” John began. “I just wanted thank you.”

“What did I do to deserve it?”

“You became the only person that I could truly trust, this whole time. Thank you for standing by me.”

“It was an honour to do so.”

 

                “He’s ready to see you.” The doctor announced to the awaiting translator. Loki entered the unit and looked around for Thor. He passed by beds filled with horribly broken soldiers, before reaching his brother’s at the end of the row.

 _“Broren,”_ he whispered and kneeled down next to the rickety cot.

Thor turned his head to face the young man and tried to smile. _“Hei_ Loki.”

“Why so friendly all of a sudden?” the translator joked.

“It’s times like this I guess, when people finally realize their wrongs. And it’s always too late.”

“ _Ikke si silke ting,_ don’t say such things.”

“But it is true Loki, my time has come.”

“No! This isn’t fair! You don’t deserve this pain.” The young Odinson said loudly.

“That is quite a flattering thing to say, even though I punched you in the face, when you were obviously expecting a friendly hello.”

“But you were right, I needed to be punished. I abandoned _mamma_ and _pappa_ in their time of need. And it was all for some stupid dream.”

“Wanting to free _Norge_ is not stupid. It is the most honourable action anyone in this family has ever done.” Thor insisted.

Loki took a moment to soak in the gracious compliment, and the American continued.

“If anyone needs to apologize, it is me. Not only did I also leave you three to attend to unsalvageable land, and beat you up, but I’ve been a dick of a brother for the majority of your life.”

“If you ever were, I honestly cannot remember.”

“C’mon _broren_ , I used to say the most awful things to you when we were children. I used to tease you for your black hair-“

“ _Det er ingenting,_ that’s nothing.”

 _“La meg ferdig,_ let me finish. When _pappa_ gave us that book of legends, I learned about our names, and used that knowledge against you.”

Loki widened his eyes, as he remembered the instances when he would walk home from school as a child, and feel pelts of sticks and stones hitting his back. He would hear Thor and his friends screaming: ‘ _Frost giganten, frost giganten! Den styggeste av dem alle!_ Frost giant, frost giant! The ugliest of them all!’

“Forgive me Loki; I take back everything I said that hurt you. You don’t know how badly I wish I could go back in time, and make everything better.” The burly soldier’s eyes started to well with tears, and his breathing became more erratic and struggled. The translator leaned in to scoop away the cascading water on his whiskery cheek.

“In reality, I couldn’t have asked for a better man to be my brother.”

Loki wanted to say something just as deep, but his thumping heart came in the way of his words. Thor opened his tightly closed fist that dangled near the young man’s knees.

“Here,” he said and opened it to reveal his most prized possession.

“I can’t take mjolnir!” Loki gasped.

 _“At du kan,_ sure you can. Think of it as a present for all the birthdays I missed.”

The young Odinson took it sadly and clutched it to his chest. “I’ll keep it with me for eternity.”

Thor lightly grinned and reached his weak arm to hold his brother’s face. Loki supported the appendage and nuzzled his face into the calloused hand while planting small kisses into his palm. Suddenly, the bearded man’s arm went limp, and the pulsing from his wrist completely halted. The translator scrambled to his feet and started to hyperventilate. He bumped into a tray of equipment, which came crashing to the floor. In response to the noise, Sherlock and John rushed into the room. The detective was about to grab on to the wailing man, but instead he ran out of the room and continued to the outside of the infirmary. Holmes ran steadily behind Loki, and lastly found himself on an empty training field, alone. The clouds drifted to the ground and formed a disturbing ring of fog. The agent hindered in confusion, and spun round and round.

“Loki!” He screamed. “Loki come back! _Kjaere, kjaere!_ I’m right here!” Sherlock locked his fingers through his hair in distress. He had followed the translator so closely; he couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.

“Please _kjaere_ , please come back.”

Sherlock fell to the muddy grass in grief. He decided that when his mind recollected, he would retrieve all the weaponry that could be carried, and search far and wide for Loki. Even if the fog had not yet lifted.

 

                The translator ripped through the trees which crowded the random forest. He looked around the growths to spy out any axis soldier to be his target. Suddenly, the loud crack of a gun fired behind him, leaving a smoking hole in the plant adjacent. Loki whipped his clammy body around to see Moriarty, gripping a machine gun.

“Hello there Mr. Odinson.” The suited man greeted, approaching the Norwegian. 

Loki immediately raised his gun. “It was you wasn’t it?

Moriarty put up his hands mockingly. “Easy now tiger, don’t want to do anything impulsive now do we? Don’t want to end up like your darling brother, right?”

“Get back!” Loki yelled, refusing to lower his revolver.

The Brit swooped in and squeezed the translator’s neck. He turned Loki’s head to and fro, as if he were examining an exotic specimen. “No I won’t kill you, yet that is. First I want you to come to my coronation, as if you have a choice, because honey, you should see me in a crown.”

With that, James pinched a nerve imbedded in Loki’s shoulder. He collapsed to the leafy ground, and the evil man dragged him away.


	12. Forgive and Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

                “Sherlock, stay put! That’s an order!” Lestrade commanded as the detective ventured out from the agency bunker, after picking up a couple of pistols. He kept a steady pace towards the exit of the base as the angry D.I. chased after him. Soldiers came out of their bunkers and paused their training on the fields to witness the strange procession. It was evident in his face that Sherlock was on a mission, and did not care for the threatening warnings that chanted from Lestrade’s mouth. They reached the large main gate, and the detective said in a very solid tone, “open it.”

“I can do no such thing,” the agency director confirmed.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” Holmes calmly directed himself to one of the operating towers, but before taking his third step; he felt a strange electric sensation that made his legs turn numb. He fell to the gravel, and Lestrade placed his stun gun back into its holster.

“Let that be a lesson to you all,” he warned the accompanying agents. “Somebody get him to his cabin, stat.” 

The D.I. stared at Sherlock’s ever still body as it was carried back. He almost regretted not letting him go. Private Odinson and the detective seemed to have some sort of bond, and it didn’t feel right to aid in its breaking. But rules are rules, and random rescue missions, especially for a low ranking private, would be considered absurd.

“Wait!” Lestrade shouted to his employees. “Make sure you disarm the hell out of him, and drop him off at Doctor Watson’s cabin instead.”

 

                _To: Ms. Jane Foster_

John hesitated his typing, as he was unsure how to continue. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and started to lament over having to write the notifications to the Odinson’s loved ones. The doctor was to send three: one to Thor’s girlfriend, Jane, to announce his death. And two to his parents, not only to inform about their eldest son’s passing, but also state Loki as missing in action. It was a wonder how Watson could even concentrate in the slightest bit, when on the beds behind him, lay Sherlock, out cold, and Thor’s body. While the detective and the translator had their relationship, John had latched himself on to the American quite tightly, and had trouble letting him go. It bothered him that he had not been there during his friend’s last breath. But it would’ve been inappropriate to be, as the moment clearly belonged to the brothers. 

John decided that his focus towards the letters could not be salvaged, and exited the metal cabin. Half of the base had been sent on an expedition, so the area’s volume was hushed greatly, and the sky continued its melancholy. In short, it was a perfect day for a funeral. The blond man went in search of hardware and equipment aiming to build a ship, mirroring the ones of the Vikings. With his attachment to Thor, the doctor wanted to give him a proper and fanciful funeral. Not just dump him into the dirt like all the rest. Though the American’s residence had been a relatively short one, it was no less honourable, as he did save the life of Britain’s prized sleuth. Watson turned a corner and to his delight, saw a small shed and workbench. He found long planks of wood and claimed them. He hurriedly pulled open rusty drawers from a large set in the shed. John retrieved a handful of dull nails, a hand saw, a ruler, and a hammer. He peered at the equipment he pooled together, and tried to conjure memories from the woodwork class in secondary school, he had regularly skipped. 

_It’s no matter. Carpentry is mostly common sense, probably._ The doctor hoped to himself, after failing to receive any flashbacks. With a deep breath Watson unfolded a piece of paper that he kept in his pocket since a couple of days ago. It was an illustration of a Viking ship Thor had drawn for him, in an attempt to give John a crash course on Norwegian history, during meal times. 

He placed it nearby and carried on with the work. He carefully measured each plank, but for the life of him, couldn’t find anything to mark the measurements with. The baffled man already stopped his construction a few times to rethink the numbers; but he needed the project finished before anyone caught sight of him, which could be at any time. With a perplexed mind, John gripped the saw and started cutting. As his mind was only focused on numbers, the blond man gasped loudly in surprise, when the blade met his hand.

“Shit!” The usually dapper man exclaimed. Watson pressed his palm to his shirt to stop the bleeding, and tried to return to the coffin. After a total of eight bullets shot into Thor, John felt that he owed the soldier an effort of moving on with his work, despite the wound. Such as the American managed to keep alive for a day, even after the brutality he faced.

“What on earth are you doing?” A deep, velvety voice asked. The doctor shot his body around to see Sherlock standing at a distance.

“Leave me alone Holmes.” John requested, very fed-up.

“Holmes? Since when were we ever on last name basis?”

“Since you instigated it when we reunited on this land.”

Sherlock’s expression turned into one of understanding. “I’m sorry John.”

“That translator, Loki, do you love him?” Watson snapped.

“Yes.” The detective answered truthfully.

The doctor sneered nastily at the man he still so fondly endeared.

“Let me help you.” The agent insisted upon noticing the red stains gracing Watson’s shirt.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You are so emotionally compromised, that you’re turning into a bloody mess.”

John peered down at his gashed, pulsating palm, and rolled his eyes at Sherlock being right, once again.

“Yeah actually, you should be helping me. You owe Thor this, and more.”

Holmes became agitated. He knew very well that he shared the blame for Loki’s disappearance, which stemmed from his brother’s passing. And it especially bothered him that he shared that blame with Moriarty.

“I didn’t ask for any of this, it just-“

“It just happened, I know. Some events are far beyond our reach, but not all of them are.”

The agent stared at John wistfully, and then to the ugly pile of hardware on the workbench.

“There should be canoes over at the docks. Do you think they’ll do?”

The doctor looked back at the magnificent drawing he used as a blueprint. “I guess we don’t have a choice.”

 

                The blond man returned to his bunker to get Thor ready. He stared uneasily at the burly man, lying in his bed. His lifeless, pale skin was starting to turn blue.

“Looks like the frost-giants touched you mate.” The doctor said light-heartedly. There wasn’t much he could do to prepare his friend, like wash his body or change his clothes without immense struggle. And he had no other special possessions within his luggage to accompany him to the afterlife. John sighed at that prospect, and trudged over to the bedside table, and pulled open a compartment to receive a hair comb. Seeing that it was the only thing he could do, the doctor seated himself next to the cot, and gently brushed the bearded man’s hair. He was careful not to tug the teeth against his ear, as if he would awaken suddenly. John finished the task and dropped the comb on to his lap. He embraced the whiskery face with his fingertips, and leaned his head in for a final kiss. It was an uncomfortably cold touch, but Watson melted into it all the same.

“Are you finished?”

John jumped a small height when the detective’s voice cut through the atmosphere.

“Let’s go.”

The duo traveled along a dirt path that was half hidden within the forest. Nobody wandered the fields or the main path, which would have been a faster way to the shore, but the doctor and agent still needed to keep their actions meticulous.

“John,” Sherlock called.

“What is it?”

“I want to switch places with you.”

The pair carefully placed the canoe that carried the soldier’s body; and Homes changed places from the back, awkwardly staring at Thor, to the front, comfortably looking to the destination.

Waves crashed lazily on to the rocky beach, and the boat was steadied not far from the water, along the shore.

“Why don’t you say a few things?” Sherlock suggested.

“I’ve said all I needed to yesterday. How about you make a speech?”

The detective looked over the wooden ship solemnly, as guilt washed over him. “Thor Odinson, I have no clue who you are, other than what Loki has told me. You were a fine soldier of exponential strength, and the Royal British Army thanks you for your service. I personally thank you for saving my life in battle. We met on horrible terms, yet you sacrificed yourself for me. I’ll never know why, although I can guess it was entirely for Loki, and I deeply respect that. I know it seems selfish at this point for me to ask, but I need a favour from you.” Holmes’s voice started to tremble, and he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid tears from falling. “My faith is not especially strong, but I know you’re out in Asgard or something, and I need you to make sure you’ll look after Loki from there. I’m so sorry, but I can’t anymore.”

“I think that’s good enough.” John settled and approached the canoe. He started to push the vessel over the smooth rocks, to the sea.

Sherlock gave him a puzzled look. “John, the Vikings cremated their dead. Didn’t you know?” He affirmed, holding up his lighter.

The dark clothed men stood feet away from the wild blaze, masking their noses from the sick smell of incinerating flesh.

“I can forgive if you can forget, and vice versa.” The doctor announced.

“Anything for you _kjaere_.” The detective softly replied.

“No, do not call me that.” Watson ordered. “I know it’s what you called Loki by, and I am not him. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

 

                The agent sat at a desk, which housed the radios. He played with the switches, trying to establish a connection to the base in Ireland. Nothing but static seemed to be coming through. Sherlock rubbed his hands to salvage some warmth and removed the head set wearily. There was so much work to do, so hitting the hay was not yet an option, as the dark background became penetrated by the sun’s light. Suddenly, a frantic noise rang through the headphones.

“Hello? Is anybody there? Please help me, I don’t know where I am, but I’ve been taken prisoner by the axis. I’m not sure how much time I have, I need help right now!”

Holmes grabbed the microphone. “I’m coming Loki! Just hold on!” 

He dashed to the door and flung it open to see the doctor, juggling two plates of breakfast.

“Darling, where are you going?”

Sherlock tried to catch his breath. “Nowhere, I was going nowhere.” And the agent shuffled back inside the agency cabin.


	13. Live and Let Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

                Loki was stirred awake by a continuous banging sound.

“Up and at ‘em sunshine!” Moriarty yelled as he clanged two fry pans together. The young man slowly met James’s gaze with the utmost of caution.

“I’m hungry as fuck,” said the suited man, and he threw the pans at Loki. “I like my eggs sunny side up, by the way.” And he turned on his heels to vacate the room. The translator’s designated area was cramped and windowless. The walls were painted a deep red, and the floor was jet black. A raggedy mattress was all the furniture that was present, and along with the makeshift bed, broken shards of ceramics and glass decorated the tiles. One could definitely tell that Moriarty had a liking of throwing things at his new slave. Loki winced as he rose to his feet, from the huddled position in the corner. The fry pans were unusually heavy, and they left fresh bruises on his skinny legs. He grabbed the handles of the dishes, and tip-toed into the corridors. 

The kitchen workers all stilled as the translator sauntered in. Ever since he had been dragged into the Nazi mansion in Brussels, a few days ago, they didn’t quite know what to make of him. He was a prisoner of war, and fit one of the categories on Hitler’s list of peoples to annihilate. The staff were forced labourers too, but not treated as badly as the Norwegian was. The group filed out of the kitchen as Loki proceeded to cook the eggs. The young man revelled in these sparse times of peace. Here he would try to clean himself up while the meals cooked, as he was not allowed to use any of the many bathrooms within the mansion. The young man ran the sink water and collected a pool of liquid dish soap, into his hands. He mixed the suds together and washed his sweat soaked hair. The translator held a bit of fear of washing his body. He was beat daily, and feared the pain and stinging that would ensue if the water met his open cuts.

 In what seemed like a matter of seconds, Loki’s nose detected the faint smell of smoke, and stopped his washing. He ran over to the stove, and found the eggs blackening at an alarming rate. The translator tried to calm his panicking senses and with shaking hands, he quickly prepared a plate of toast.

 

                Loki knocked on the large oak door, and turned the brass knob to enter into Moriarty’s chambers. Usually he would be lounging in bed, cleaning his prized pistols; but this morning, he sat on a random stool next to a small table, that held a telephone, and spoke on it stressfully.

“Fuhrer listen to me; don’t pay any heed to them. They speak on false accounts…. No of course not, I’m just keeping Belgium warm while you work on the eastern front…. Yes, yes I remember our agreement quite well. You are the king (he said whilst rolling his eyes)…. Come now fuhrer, I am your confident, I’d never betray you.” James swept his pupils around the room, and finally spotted Loki, timidly waiting by the doorway.

“Look sir, I am very busy. I need to deal with some people at the moment…. Alright, alright…. Yes I already told you, there’s nothing to worry about on my part…. Okay.” Moriarty clicked the phone back into the receiver and head toward his slave, an upset look already brewing on his face.

“I’m sorry sir, but the eggs were rotten, so I made toast instead.” The Norwegian knew better than to say he let breakfast burn, even if it was an accident. He braced himself for an attack, but to his surprise, the Brit wandered off in the opposite direction. He returned though, with a black whip that was a sizeable height and unfurled it in front of a queasy Loki. When the weapon’s tail trailed on the floor at last, Moriarty took his empty hand and lifted the top piece of bread.

“Is that strawberry jam?”

The translator nodded his head.

“I hate strawberry jam. What happened to my original order?”

“I told you, the eggs were spoiled.”

“Wrong, wrong, wrong! They were bought just yesterday.” James slapped the plate out of his slave’s hands. “Don’t you dare lie to me!” He raised the whip and lashed Loki until he collapsed. The suited man knelt to the crying boy, and harshly pulled his damp hair.

“Who’s gonna save you now, fag? Your precious detective doesn’t give a fuck about you!”

“He’s coming, and you better watch out when he arrives!” Loki retaliated, as he remembered how fierce of a combat fighter Sherlock was. The translator received another lash for the retort, this time it sliced through his lip. Moriarty released his hair and grabbed on to the shirt collar instead.

“If he really cared, don’t you think he would have been here by now? I know very well that the British base lies only hours away from Brussels.” The Brit relaxed his grip, and furthered from the battered male. 

“Come now Loki, you can’t be that stupid. Sherlock isn’t here because he is still on the way, or he got caught up in the forest. He’s not here because, he is with John Watson. As far as Holmes is concerned, you were just someone to fuck with in the meanwhile.” Moriarty flashed an evil smile as he watched the youngster squirm uncomfortably.

“You know nothing, John is just a friend.”

“Oh sweetie, don’t be so foolish. I’ve known Sherlock and his bitch since forever! I know the truth.”

The Odinson let out a gasping sigh, as hot tears stung the marks on his face. “Why are you doing this to me? Why is it taking you so long to kill me?”

“Kill you? I don’t want to kill you.” James lifted Loki’s chin in strange gentleness. “Sweetheart, you’re my new toy, my ragdoll. And I shall treat you as such. Now I think what you really mean to ask, is since I have so much more against the detective than a random soldier like you, why is he not here instead?” The evil man neared his face closer to the translator.

“You were much easier target. And who knows, maybe the fucker really does care about you, and he’s tossing and turning in his sleep, thinking about the hell you must be going through. Now that, that gives me so much pleasure.”

The suited man smoothed his outfit, and stood up tall. “Clean this shit up, then you may return to your quarters, don’t leave from there until I say you can.”

He was about to exit the room, but remembered an almost forgotten command. “So you know how you used the radios, to contact the base for help? Don’t do that again, it makes daddy very angry.”

 

                Odinson lay curled up on his mattress, sulking away. He thought long and deep about Sherlock, and the time they spent together. Loki thought about the friendly sentences exchanged during the trip to Belgium. As well as their long conversations in the canteen during lunch, and during breaks in the agency bunker. The translator was thankful that Sherlock didn’t poke fun at his Scandinavian accent, or when he stumbled over new English words. He even took a moment to think about the time they were avoiding each other. Loki almost laughed upon realizing how immature his behaviour was then. That waste of time would’ve never happened, if he just told the detective how he felt in the first place. The young man wrapped his arms around himself; in an attempt to re-enact the way Holmes held him warmly after their love-making. But heat no longer cycled through this skinny body. Loki squeezed his eyes shut and in his mind, played his favourite song; Sherlock’s tries at speaking Norwegian (with the beloved term of endearment echoing in his brain over, and over).

Caught up with his happy memories, the youngster’s psyche then changed his thoughts to a negative one. There were a few times when the agent had called out John’s name instead of Loki’s when he climaxed, at first it didn’t bother him, but Moriarty’s ramblings forced it into his mind. The translator slowly started to accept the fact that he really didn’t mean a thing to the detective. He was just a temporary place-holder for the doctor. And his dark-haired hero was not coming to save him at any point. Loki would’ve continued into accepting an inhumane death within the red walls, but something inside resisted furiously. The young man rose, straightened his aching back, and for the first time in a while, got angry. 

Even if he was imprisoned, Loki confirmed to himself that he would not go down without a fight. As his heart raced with a boost of esteem, the Norwegian paced down the dim hallways. The sky was starting its pink decline into black. According to his carefully planned agenda, James was to announce himself as supreme leader in the capital city’s main square, at nightfall. The young Odinson didn’t have long to make his move.

 

                He knocked on his master’s bedroom door yet again, and entered at the signal. The Brit stayed in front of a panel of mirrors, as a tailor finalized the finishing touches on his new suit. Upon seeing Loki, Moriarty sent the other servant away.

“What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay in your chambers.”

“I am sorry sir, it’s just that I-I need to tell you something.”

“Well, spit it out then!”

“This morning, when you were on the telephone, you were speaking to Hitler, weren’t you?”

“I don’t really appreciate nosy questions, and it’s fuhrer to you.” Moriarty’s patience was already dropping dangerously low.

“I did not mean to be a bother sir; I thought I’d mention that he has been calling you an awful lot these days. And you always end up having to explain your motives to him each conversation. Seems to me that his trust in you is lost.”

“How so?” James pondered, raising an eyebrow to his reflection.

“Fuhrer is so concerned on you going back on your word. In my opinion, it looks like he’s trying to keep you at a distance, so that he can claim the rest of, your rightly earned riches.”

Moriarty frowned deeply, for a split second before narrowing his eyes. Picking a stray silk thread from his blazer, he questioned further. “So what do you suppose I should do about this dilemma?”

“Terminate the fuhrer. It’s the only way you can continue unbothered.” Loki confirmed with sudden confidence.

“Now see, if I kill Adolf, have you any idea what the result will be like? The empire I spent years, breaking my back for will collapse in a flash. The allies, would automatically win the war, and I will end up with nothing but my life spared by the British government, if that.” He stomped over to his slave.

“Nice try sweetheart, but I see right through you. How thick do you think I am? Terminate Hitler, what a joke!” Moriarty chuckled mockingly, and then slapped Loki. “Go back to your room before I get really pissed off. There is no way you’ll ruin my night.”

The translator obeyed and almost stepped away, until he felt the reassuring and steady beat of the mjolnir pendant against his chest, moving with him.

“What are you fucking deaf now? Get out of my face!” The evil man shouted when he saw the young man still in his tracks.

 _“Som du onskers,_ as you wish.” The translator mumbled before striding to his master, and attacking him with the blunt bead. 

He squeezed it tightly in his slim fist, and tackled James to the ground. He steadied himself on top of the suited man, and punched his head repeatedly. Loki did not, and would not let up until the cruel bastard was dead. Angry sweat streamed down his chin as his knuckles started to turn red, with the blood with Moriarty. Shocked and choked wails were all that could be uttered out of the severely broken man. And it made the translator smile with satisfaction, knowing that James would no longer be able to hurt any more people. Loki slowed down the beating eventually, and rested his hand down.  He sat still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and stared at the bloodied masterpiece. Thor would surely be proud. Moriarty lay lifelessly on the carpeted floor. A pool of red circled around his mangled face like a halo. He was finished, and Loki was freed from the hellish clutches. To finalize his actions, he snarled the ugliest Norwegian insult, that even now would earn him a stern lecture from his mother. At that, the young Odinson ran. He ran out of the mansion, the neighbourhood, the city. He ran and ran until he could not go any farther than what was possible, as at some point he met the water of the English Channel. From there, the long-haired man travelled northward, to go back home.


	14. Kjaere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to quickly note that there is some Norwegian lingo in the story, but it's translated in the same sentence. I used Google Translate, so if you know Norwegian or are from Norway, and spot an error, don't hesitate to correct me. Unfortunately, I'm not able to do any of the accent symbols that come with some words, so please pardon my keyboard! I also had to quickly dive into some WWII and military research, and if I've made any major errors with the history that don't make sense and needs to be pointed out, again please feel free to do so. Other than that I hope you enjoy the story! I want to shout out to the people who have commented, kudo'd and read my story, it means so much to me! Thank you.

                Frigga’s body shook with shivers, as she roamed silently around her bland crop fields. Sleep seemed to come in erratic patterns, from sound, to restless, to totally unable to shut her eyes. Tonight she was in one of those restless phases. The blonde woman was used to it since Loki’s departure, but after receiving notice of her beloved eldest son’s death, Frigga grew more and more disturbed as the nights progressed. There was also much to worry about like; how she and Odin would survive a fast arriving winter, or whether they would ever hear from their youngest again. Moments ago she lay in bed, zoning in and out of a dream, which quickly became a nightmare. In it, the blonde woman walked around a dark space, and at one point saw her sons standing at a distance. Frigga ran to embrace them, but their bodies dissolved instantly within her soft clutches. This dream replayed until the weary mother had enough, and awoke to leave the decimated cottage to take a walk. 

She pulled her thin cardigan tightly around her shoulders, and circled about the soil until drowsiness overcame her. Frigga decided to turn back home. Halfway there, the heavy glare of automobile headlights flashed in her direction. The elder woman neared it, very much unenthusiastic. Surely it came from the army and probably held Thor’s body or, heaven forbid, Loki’s as well. She stopped steps from the small and plain car, and watched a familiar lanky figure exit. The youngest Odinson paced to his mother in long strides, and opened his arms to hug her tightly.

“ _Gutten min!_ My boy!” She gasped happily. _“Min engel, du har kommet tilbake!_ My angel you have returned!”

“ _Aldri la meg ga mamma,_ never let me go.” Loki pleaded, as his whole body tremored harshly.

“Never ever baby.” Frigga promised, listening to her son’s pounding heart, thanking the Almighty that it still worked.

Loki sat at the kitchen table, hungrily scarfing down numerous pickled herring and berries. His mother and a sleepy, but content Odin kept him company.

“Seems as if you haven’t eaten in days, _engel_.” The blonde woman crooned.

The young man slowed his chewing but was unsure how to answer. He wasn’t sure how to tell his parents about his time in captivity. And he definitely wasn’t sure if he was ready to come to terms with it himself, either.

“I’m sorry I have not written as many letters as you would’ve liked.” Loki said, changing the subject.

“You were obviously busy with other things, _gutten min_.” Odin consoled. “It is alright. But I must ask, how did you become missing in the first place? You’re usually so careful, even with the most common of events.”

“Enough with your questions! Can’t you give him some time to recuperate? He’s clearly exhausted.” Frigga scolded and spooned more herring on to Loki’s plate.

“I left the base to avenge Thor, and then got lost.” The translator admitted quietly. His parents looked down to the dusty floor, as if just remembering that their eldest would not be joining them for dinner tonight, or the nights to come.

Frigga broke the sad silence. “I think we should do something for him, now that we are all together. A memorial will suit tomorrow perfectly, which is Sunday. We should arrange something at church.”

Loki and Odin nodded in agreement, and the old man started to vacate the area. “We must rise with the sun in that case. I’m off to bed.” He patted his son’s shoulder. “ _Kjaere,_ you must be just as tired.”

“Of course, I’ll be there in a moment.” The elder woman went to the sink to wash the small stack of dishes.

“Leave it _mamma_ , I will do them.” The long-haired man offered.

“No, no it’s fine.” His mother insisted. Upon hearing her husband close their bedroom door behind him, she approached her son again.

“Did you end up doing it?” She asked hopefully.

In response, the translator showed her the blood encrusted mjolnir pendant from around his neck. Frigga pursed her lips in understanding and kissed the metal item, signifying her farewell.

 

                The sermon was longer than usual because, the minister had allowed the Odinsons and their closest friends, to share the service with Thor’s memorial. Loki rested solemnly in his Sunday best, fidgeting slightly. It had been a while since he dressed up, or had seen any of these people. As for praying, it had occupied most of his days at the base. The condolences were awkward to him, as they were littered with just as awkward ‘thank-you for your service.’ Some people tried to make friendly conversation with the translator. A few were dead set on coaxing him into some sort of therapy, for post-traumatic stress. Loki would just frown at the suggestions; he obviously didn’t have the money to spend on such luxuries. Besides, the only therapy he wanted was to speak with Sherlock. Whatever Moriarty claimed about his detective, meant nothing anymore. And the translator had his chance, as the public telephone in town made long-distance calls very easily. Loki had the agent’s flat telephone number locked in his memory, after seeing it in the agency records one day. He decided to call Sherlock as soon as the war was over.

 

                Sherlock lay in his bed, sighing with annoyance at the cheerful noises starting in the streets again. V-day of course, was cause for celebration. The allies had finally won the war upon the death of Adolf Hitler, and his powerful advisor. The agent and the doctor had arrived home the day before last, to applause and appreciation from the British population. But the victory was bittersweet for them, as they had each lost people near and dear to their hearts. They furthered from the buoyant festivities after a couple of hours, to try to jump start a normal life. Holmes looked to his partner on the other side of the bed. He scowled lightly at the astounding lengths, and sounds John was able to sleep through. Sherlock decided not to bother him, and wandered to the sitting room. He stared out the window to watch the citizens parading down the streets, waving little British flags. There were noticeably less people out today, than yesterday. It was clear that things were winding down, and soon schedules and routines would rule their lives again. The detective squinted his eyes to focus on a prominent figure within the crowds. He was in uniform, and his long black hair swayed in the blowing wind. 

Holmes gasped with missed excitement, and abruptly left the flat. Still in his bed robe, he jogged along the concrete to catch up with the fellow.

 _“Kjaere, kjaere!”_ He called out, and reached an arm into the crowd, to tap the soldier on the back. The man turned around, and sure enough, it wasn’t Loki.

“Pardon me,” Sherlock mumbled. “I thought you were someone else.” The detective shuffled back to his building, a disappointed mood looming over him. Upon regaining Belgium, the allies set out to find all missing persons, but Odinson was never found. The agent kept a tight hold on the hope that they’d see each other again. Holmes tried to move on, such as Watson had asked him to; but every now and then, the atmosphere held little reminders of Loki, which helped Sherlock to never forget.

He re-entered the quiet living room and sat glumly on the sofa. Suddenly, a high-pitched ring from the telephone alerted him. Holmes wearily answered it, from the table next to the furniture.

“Hello?” 

_“Kjaere?”_

Sherlock’s lips stretched into a grateful smile.


	15. Lokiarty: Author's Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourteenth chapter was the official last chapter to the story. This is just an extra chapter I call a 'deleted scene'. It's kind of a Lokiarty smut thing (requested by some friends). Anyway, thanks again to everyone who has read 'Close Yet Far'.

                Loki entered Moriarty’s quarters, balancing a tray of breakfast that consisted solely of sausages, an odd but stern request from the suited man. James sat straight-postured in his bed, looking quite regal in his silk nightclothes. Loki set the tray’s legs over his master’s lap, and waited to be dismissed. But instead, James handed him the fork that accompanied the feast.

“Feed me,” he ordered.

The young man furrowed his eyebrows uncomfortably, but obeyed. He sat on top of the comforter, across from Moriarty and fed him the meal. It was an awkward process, as the Brit seemed to insist on suggestively sucking on each morsel that came between his teeth, before thoroughly eating it. The translator averted his gaze from the strange scene, until he felt Moriarty’s hot fingers turn his head to face him.

Loki looked into the dark eyes; to see what he thought was lust. He stood up straight away and tried to make an excuse to leave.

“I should clean the kitchen and dining room. You said you were expecting guests for lunch, right?”

In response, James crawled over the sheets and grabbed hold of the translator. Loki didn’t resist the touch; there would be severe consequences if he did. His forehead started to bead with anxious sweat; his master took notice and wiped his thin lips across his pale head, in an attempt to seduce him. It only bothered the young man further; Moriarty’s facial stubble was causing an itch.

James’s hands travelled to Loki’s shirt, and struggled a bit to undo the buttons, because his eyes were locked on his slave’s face. Finally, the shirt dropped itself to the carpet. The Brit bent his knees so that he peered at the uncovered torso. He poured acid kisses on to the scraped skin, which made the translator wince feverishly. He felt around for the Odinson’s arms and moved them to wrap around his greasy head. The young Norwegian was awestruck, he felt as if he had been turned into a puppet, unable to resist the actions he was commanded to do by the pull of imaginary strings, that Moriarty controlled him by.

Criss-crossing his fingers through his master’s flat hair, the slave tried to imagine him as his detective lover instead. Closing his eyes to imagine the fantasy, Loki sighed with slight satisfaction, as James’s lips worked their way downward.

“I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: I’m a lean, mean, sex machine!” The Brit purred in reply to the translator’s groan, and proceeded to take off his slave’s belt and unzipped his trousers to reveal a limp erection. Moriarty hurriedly tried to charge it with hand motions he practised on himself, but it seemed to fail to turn the translator on. He looked up almost pleadingly at Loki, but all he could do was shrug. The evil man peered down at the penis again, this time with suspicion, as something on it had caught his glance. Twisting it carefully with studying eyes, he found small bite marks tacked around the fleshy appendage. He scowled in a disgusted manner and pushed the dazed man back.

“I don’t eat spoiled meats.”

Loki tried to mask his relief, and gathered himself to exit.

“Wait!” Moriarty ordered. “Did I say you could leave?”

The translator turned to face his master, who was ready with his hardened cock, presenting itself outside of his robe.

“It ain’t gonna suck itself.”


End file.
